


the lord giveth (and the lord taketh away)

by byronicmaiden



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Electra Complex, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Seduction, Unreliable Narrator, mysterio is a fucking creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 23:03:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19799572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronicmaiden/pseuds/byronicmaiden
Summary: se·duce/səˈd(y)o͞os/verbentice (someone) into sexual activity.





	the lord giveth (and the lord taketh away)

It’s surprisingly easy to get that boy into his bed. While he didn’t plan it originally, things always change along the way. But the poor boy is so desperate, pink-lipped and tear-stained. Every little boy needs a father, and father-fixated Peter needed one badly.

Maybe it was losing his father as a child. Maybe it was losing his uncle as he was reaching puberty, or losing Stark as he was growing into a man. He didn’t claim to understand why a boy would want to fuck a strange adult man because he reminded him of his dead fathers, but he didn’t need to understand it. He just needed to use it.

And, again, it wasn’t like it was hard; sweet little Peter dizzy on whiskey (which he’d only agreed to drink after Quentin goaded him on, told him he was a man, not a little kid like everyone thought) and something fizzy and green he’d managed to slip into his drink when his head was turned, but that wasn’t important. 

Peter, head-spinning, eyes drooping shut, practically tripping over his own feet as he climbed the stairs, Quentin holding him up, his hands sliding up his shirt, Peter too out of it to notice. He fishes the room key out of Peters pocket, which he doesn’t seem to notice either. Or at least, he doesn’t mind. Peter, with this strange mix of innocence and naughtiness, teasing and coquettish, the myth of the childlike boy with the desires of someone far older. Lollipop-licking, heart-shaped sunglasses, then he realizes he’s picturing a scene from Adrian Lyne’s Lolita. Great film. Really beautiful cinematography. And Peter would look so cute in a little skirt like Dominique Swain’s. 

He lays Peter out on the bed, looks down at him, and it’s like a predator staring down at prey– God, could he have picked a more obvious metaphor?

But he’s not a predator, he tells himself as he licks his lips, wolffish, hungry. He’s not a bad person. He’s doing the right thing. This is all just means to an end.

Peter looks up with cloudy eyes as Quentin kisses him, licking his neck, sucking, vampiric. Peter gasps, clutches onto him, and Quentin shushes him, calling him sweet boy and baby and honey, and he almost feels bad for this kid, because he really is sweet. No matter how much he plays at being the brave hero, the valiant savior, the amazing Spider-Man, he’s still nothing but a frightened child who’s willing to spread his legs for the first handsome man to be nice to him.

Peter cries, high and whiny, and Quentin is so very glad he went through with this plan; any guilt he had before has vanished with those sweet sounds, his fingers swirling through the sticky wetness of Peters mouth, his cock buried deep in something else. Peter is crying, hugging Quentin close to him, his face buried in the nape of his neck, and Quentin shushes him, strokes his cheek, tells him it’s okay, it’s okay, because he knows that’s what he’s supposed to say. He can play this role, he can play it very well. He can be the caring father, the dark seducer, the mysterious bad-boy, the knight in shining armor. He can be it all, and he can be none of it.

He hopes they get to do this again, sometime when Peter is feeling less emotional, sometime when he can really take abuse, take hands lovingly wrapped around his throat, bites all over his body, because God, he wants to really give this pretty little boy something to cry about.

Peter is shaking, gasping after they finish, sweaty and sticky as Quentin takes him into his arms, kisses him on the forehead, promises him he won’t ever tell anyone. 

Peter is asleep within minutes, and he watches him, stares at him, feeling a strange mix of pity and pride. Poor boy, but could you really blame him? After all, it had just been so easy. He just couldn’t help himself, with Peter looking like that. 

Why shouldn’t he take what’s been laid out to him? Wouldn’t anyone?

Wouldn’t you?

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i was half-drunk when i wrote this but i had to do something for these two. sorrrryyyyyy~


End file.
